Gum Tree
We celebrated my grandma's 82nd birthday today. As has been the case most of my life with family gatherings at Grandma's, our noon meal wasn't eaten until after 2:30, and what was supposed to be a "lunch thing" didn't adjourn until around 6:00 this evening. There was too much food, too much noise, and the wonderful chaos that is created by busy children and chatting adults. I loved it. These gatherings strengthen our family, build character, and are always a source of laughter. And, I know, they will all too soon be nothing more than memories.
Sometime between tacos and birthday cake, I followed my nieces, nephew and Anna out to the backyard. The kids were disappointed that the swings were no longer there, but they were soon distracted by the handfuls of cicada shells stuck to the leaves and branches of the giant gum tree in the center of the yard.
Ah, the gum tree.
When I was in my early-to-mid teens, I used to love to climb that tree. It had straight sturdy limbs that shot out perpendicular from the trunk all the way around and as high up as you could see. It made like a leafy ladder and was a nearly effortless climb.
Before I knew it, I found myself attempting to show my nieces how I used to climb up onto the bottom-most branch, about a foot above my head. I looped my arms around the bough, walked my feet up the trunk and miserably failed at hoisting my body on top of the limb. It felt as though my body were completely betraying me. I felt weak, heavy, awkward and incredibly confused. The pained looks on the girls' faces confirmed the validity of the voice in my head saying, "You ain't got this anymore, Lace."
I plunked back down to the ground and followed the girls inside, laughing...sort of. As I relayed my failed attempt to my siblings, Matt decided he would take a stab at climbing for old times sake. Rachel and I watched him attempt to get up on the starting branch from the guest bedroom window and laughed. What had happened to us? How did we get uncoordinated, old, and weak?
Soon enough, Rachel, Matt, and I returned outside with Matt's girlfriend Amy and the kiddos. Armed with a metal black folding chair, Matt and I were set on making it up into the tree and climbing it successfully. I went first and was scrambling like an idiot to mount the bottom branch when Rachel gave my hind quarters a hefty shove. Success! Once on my feet, I started to climb and made it about a third of the way up the tree when I conceded that tree climbing was notably less fun and more painful than it had been fifteen years ago. I awkwardly made my way back down, legs and arms scratched to pieces. Typing this, I can still feel the chafing under my right arm. Neat.
Matt's scramble into the tree was equally unceremonious (if not more so). There was shoving and grunting and Rachel frantically trying to get out from under him as he drooped from that bottom branch, but Matt, too, made it successfully into the leafy canopy of the gum tree. Rachel went inside with the then-bored kiddos, and Amy and I watched him from the ground and winced. He made it slightly past the point at which I'd stopped, and Amy and I urged him to call it quits. Matt climbing at 27 looked nothing like Matt climbing at 12. I was convinced the dude was going to slip and break his neck.
Matt claims the tree itself has changed over the last decade and a half, and to be fair, it has. Some of our favorite footholds are gone, the branches are thicker, the bark rougher. I think we've changed more than that tree, though. For starters, I am twenty pounds heavier and have the abs of a mother of two c-section babies. I'll let Matt speak for himself, but still...
I think I can safely say that tree climbing is a thing of my past. Although I'm not particularly a fan of some of the physical changes aging brings, I'm even less of a fan of the consequences of ignoring those changes. I'm off to find some Advil and Neosporin and climb in bed.
Sometime between tacos and birthday cake, I followed my nieces, nephew and Anna out to the backyard. The kids were disappointed that the swings were no longer there, but they were soon distracted by the handfuls of cicada shells stuck to the leaves and branches of the giant gum tree in the center of the yard.
Ah, the gum tree.
When I was in my early-to-mid teens, I used to love to climb that tree. It had straight sturdy limbs that shot out perpendicular from the trunk all the way around and as high up as you could see. It made like a leafy ladder and was a nearly effortless climb.
Before I knew it, I found myself attempting to show my nieces how I used to climb up onto the bottom-most branch, about a foot above my head. I looped my arms around the bough, walked my feet up the trunk and miserably failed at hoisting my body on top of the limb. It felt as though my body were completely betraying me. I felt weak, heavy, awkward and incredibly confused. The pained looks on the girls' faces confirmed the validity of the voice in my head saying, "You ain't got this anymore, Lace."
I plunked back down to the ground and followed the girls inside, laughing...sort of. As I relayed my failed attempt to my siblings, Matt decided he would take a stab at climbing for old times sake. Rachel and I watched him attempt to get up on the starting branch from the guest bedroom window and laughed. What had happened to us? How did we get uncoordinated, old, and weak?
Soon enough, Rachel, Matt, and I returned outside with Matt's girlfriend Amy and the kiddos. Armed with a metal black folding chair, Matt and I were set on making it up into the tree and climbing it successfully. I went first and was scrambling like an idiot to mount the bottom branch when Rachel gave my hind quarters a hefty shove. Success! Once on my feet, I started to climb and made it about a third of the way up the tree when I conceded that tree climbing was notably less fun and more painful than it had been fifteen years ago. I awkwardly made my way back down, legs and arms scratched to pieces. Typing this, I can still feel the chafing under my right arm. Neat.
Matt's scramble into the tree was equally unceremonious (if not more so). There was shoving and grunting and Rachel frantically trying to get out from under him as he drooped from that bottom branch, but Matt, too, made it successfully into the leafy canopy of the gum tree. Rachel went inside with the then-bored kiddos, and Amy and I watched him from the ground and winced. He made it slightly past the point at which I'd stopped, and Amy and I urged him to call it quits. Matt climbing at 27 looked nothing like Matt climbing at 12. I was convinced the dude was going to slip and break his neck.
Matt claims the tree itself has changed over the last decade and a half, and to be fair, it has. Some of our favorite footholds are gone, the branches are thicker, the bark rougher. I think we've changed more than that tree, though. For starters, I am twenty pounds heavier and have the abs of a mother of two c-section babies. I'll let Matt speak for himself, but still...
I think I can safely say that tree climbing is a thing of my past. Although I'm not particularly a fan of some of the physical changes aging brings, I'm even less of a fan of the consequences of ignoring those changes. I'm off to find some Advil and Neosporin and climb in bed.
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